Sherlock and Watson: Coping With It
by ThatNerdyFangirl
Summary: It's been a year after Sherlock's death, and Watson hasn't quite come to terms with it.


I own nothing but the awe for Moffat and Gatiss' brilliance.

*()*()*()*()*

Watson managed to open the front door into 221b before stumbling up the steps and collapsing onto the couch. He let the empty boxes fall from his arms and land with a thud on the ground.

"All right up there?" Mrs. Hudson yelled up.

"Everything's fine." John assured her and sat upright.

It had been a year since Sherlock had died. He kept coming back to the flat, hoping one day he would see Sherlock standing there, making a feeble attempt at a cup of coffee. But no such luck. Harry had tried to get John to come and visit her to try and distract him. She knew he was having a difficult time coping with Sherlock's death. She kept telling him that he was really gone, but John refused. He knew Sherlock would come back.

But he didn't. Every day John would sit in the flat, reading the newspaper, picking through the fridge, watching reruns of television shows. He kept waiting for something he knew secretly would never come. Watson didn't want to come to terms with that, and refused Harry's help, Mycroft's help, or even Lestrade's help.

*()*()*()*()*

It had been a year, and Watson slowly started to recognize that Sherlock wouldn't be coming. And he had known it all along, but just wanted so desperately to hear Sherlock's voice correcting every word anyone said. He craved to not know what Sherlock was thinking, even though Sherlock thought they both knew. He longed to have Mrs. Hudson scold Sherlock for the mess he had made, or the body parts in the fridge.

John stood up slowly and began to scrounge around the flat for his things. He had finally moved on and found a new flat. At 221b Baker Street, there were too many memories to stay without it being painful. Watson took his time rummaging through everything and finally collected a few boxes, and took them down to the curb by the street. Every once and a while he would come across something of Sherlock's and gently place it aside. He had to have respect for the most human human even after death. It only seemed right.

After a couple of hours, Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door with a hot cup of tea waiting for him. He took it with gratitude and muttered a "ta" in thanks for her help. Mrs. Hudson was the only other person having a difficult time with his death, even if a year had passed. Mycroft didn't make any attempt at contacting Watson, but every once and a while he would receive a handsome check made out to him signed by Mycroft. It was a lame apology, but it did help pay for the new flat. Lestrade would invite John down to the pup once a week. They would watch football and discuss minor issues. But only Mrs. Hudson made him feel like it was okay to still be torn up over the event.

*()*()*()*()*

Once all of the boxes were full of everything belonging to John, he made a somber look around the flat once more. It was his last time. There were patches over the wall where Sherlock had shot, and there was still that sword mark across the table. He gave a sad smile.

He was bending down to take the last box to the curb when there was a knock on the door. He thought it was probably Mrs. Hudson giving him some space and privacy.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm really fine, you don't have to knock." John said as he made his way over to the door. "You can just come in."

But it wasn't Mrs. Hudson standing at the door. No. It was Sherlock.

*()*()*()*()*

John stood there in shock. This couldn't be true. Sherlock had died a year ago. He had seen him fall, watched him bleed, and be carried away. How was this possible?

"A year." John stated, staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock gave a nod.

"You were dead. I saw you die. I watched you fall." John stuttered in disbelief.

"Well I'm obviously not dead, John." Sherlock said impatiently.

"Then how?"

"That's something best left for another day. You've had your turn in questions, now it's mine. Why are you moving out?"

John sighed. "Because every day for the last year I have come to this flat, waiting for you to walk through that door. I have been waiting, and you never came. This place was too painful for me, so I was moving to another flat to get away from it. Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" John yelled this last sentence.

Sherlock gave a sad sigh. "I'm sorry, John."

John shook his head. "Sorry isn't enough, Sherlock."

Sherlock took a step forward toward John. "I really am sorry."

"Sherlock, you can never say you're sorry enough times."

"Well what can I do to make it up to you?"

"Take this." John said quietly as he stepped towards Sherlock. Sherlock looked up expectantly only to be punched in the face.

"I guess I deserve that."

*()*()*()*()*

Yeah so the ending sucks. Please can you give me advice on making it better? I don't really want it to be a romance, but it just didn't quite come together...


End file.
